


May The Odds Be Ever In Our Favour

by spatialsoloist



Series: Bound to Others, Past and Present [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Feels, Gen, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialsoloist/pseuds/spatialsoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 75th Hunger Games, Ori is chosen as one of the tributes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May The Odds Be Ever In Our Favour

**Author's Note:**

> Your mandatory Hunger Games AU. It's mostly just feels and tears and being badass. I've made Thrain into a bit of a villian here, so I'm sorry if you're a fan of him.
> 
> Enjoy!

The microphone spluttered and screeched with feedback for a moment, and the words that followed were greeted with a ringing silence that stunted the volume of Thrain’s voice.

“Ori Rison!”

Ori’s blood froze in his veins. For a second, it was as though the world had tilted under his feet, making the stage in front of him turn slightly sideways. Then, the cold air in his lungs slipped past his numb lips and he took an unsteady step forward. For a second, Ori thought he was going to walk into the boy in front of him, but apparently everybody had stepped back and a small circle around him. Thrain caught sight of him in an instant, eyes like a hawk, and he called gruffly into the microphone, “Ori Rison, come up to the stage!”

Ori felt his face warm instantly—everybody was staring now— but he pressed his lips tightly together and forced himself to walk forwards, knees weak. The guards dressed in plastic and white quickly walked up next to him, almost as though they were afraid that he was going to run. Ori barely suppressed a snort; he was not petty or foolish. There was no place to run. He would not show weakness before those wretched people.

Thrain welcomed him onto the stage with a piercing glare.

“Welcome, Ori Rison. You are this year’s first tribute. Please stand to my right. Now, for the second tribute.”

Ori inhaled sharply, watching Thrain stomp across the stage to the fishbowl sitting on the other side. His large hand plunged into the mess of folder papers, swished around, and then drew another slip up triumphantly. The crowd didn’t react, but the tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Ori tried not to show any emotion on his face, but his heart stammered fiercely in his chest. The name on the paper would be the name of another teen forced into the Games with him, one who may possibly kill him, be killed by him, die gruesomely or be crowned the winner; the possibilities were endless.

Thrain unfolded the paper with flourish and leaned into the microphone again. “Dwalin Fundinson!”

There was a sudden movement of restlessness in the crowd as everybody shifted nervously, and Ori’s eyes widened in shock. Dwalin? Dwalin Fundinson?

The guards moved forwards, and Dwalin stepped out from amongst the boys on the other side of the crowd. Everybody parted dutifully, eyeing the young man up. Even in his simple tunic and dark pants, there was no mistaking the muscles bulging beneath the fabric, and compared to him Ori was almost hilariously weak. When he walked up onto the stage on Effie’s other side, their eyes locked. For a minute the smaller male saw a strange flicker, but then Dwalin was already turning to face the crowd. Ori imitated him, feeling nauseous.

“Please welcome this year’s District 12 tributes!” Thrain shouted into the microphone, and his blunt hands grabbed Ori’s wrist tightly on one side and caught hold of Dwalin’s in the other, yanking their arms up like they were the winners of some great prize. Ori’s breath caught painfully in his throat as he forced himself to look out into the massive crowd without crying.

There was no applause.

Everybody in the district stared at them, their expressions guarded and pitying. Then, in one smooth, unified movement, they raised their hands, holding up three fingers together, reaching out. Hundreds of palms, extended, silently acknowledging. To what, though? Ori squeezed his eyes tight, burning the image into his mind. He knew it would be the last he would ever see of his home for a very long time.

Ori didn’t remember what happened next, but the next thing he knew he was ushered one way and another until he found himself standing in an empty room. There were two guards outside, making it impossible for him to go anywhere. Ori found himself pacing, a huge lump in his throat, his hands clammy. He could hardly believe his luck; he was seventeen this year, and he’d survived the past five years without being chosen.

Dwalin was eighteen, though, a little voice said in the back of his mind. He was been one year away from never needing to fear the Reaping Day ever again. And Balin, Ori thought. Poor, gentle, older brother Balin, who used to sneak Ori an extra biscuit when he used to help the other at the printing press.

There was a loud noise from outside, and a shout, and suddenly, the door to the trailer was flying open under the combined weight of Dori and Nori, and everything collapsed at once.

“Dori,” Ori choked out, hating himself for sounding so weak. “Nori!”

Dori’s arms were around him in an instant, holding Ori tightly against his chest. Ori could feel his brother’s heartbeat stuttering in his ribs, and he could feel his throat closing off again. Dori was scared for him, Ori thought numbly, and squeezed back tightly, unable to stop the tears now. They streamed down his face like liquid fire as Nori came around and encased his arms around both his brothers, drawing them together as closely as humanely possible.

“Oh, Ori,” Dori whispered, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ori mumbled hoarsely. Nori laughed bitterly.

“This is so fucked up,” the redhead growled.

“Why?” Ori sobbed, closing his eyes again. “Why me? I’m almost eighteen, _why_?”

Neither of his brothers had an answer, and Ori honestly didn’t expect them to reply. Dori pulled back first, pushing Ori’s short bangs away from his face. The eldest Rison brothers’ eyes were dark and his face drawn, but he was firm and caring nonetheless.

“Ori, we love you. Please, don’t ever forget that.”

Ori nodded numbly. “I know. I love you both too.”

Nori sighed tiredly and squeezed his shoulder. “Ori…”

Hearing his brothers, his tough, strong, caring brothers sound so hollow suddenly sparked an angry flame in Ori’s chest. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his nerves.

“I’m going to come back,” he blurted out, and his brothers looked startled.

“I’m coming back. I—I promise. No matter what. I’ll come back and I’ll be back helping Dori in his cloths shop and Nori in the factory and it’ll—it’ll be like it was before, promise.”

There was silence following Ori’s outburst until Nori suddenly choked out a laugh and yanked them all together again. “We know, Ori. We know. Please, be safe.”

Ori couldn’t speak anymore. He nodded instead, trying to display his raw emotions through actions. The door suddenly shuddered with a hard knock, and then it opened. The guards glared into the small room, giving the brothers pointed looks. In turn, Dori and Nori’s fearsome glares nearly shred him into two, and the guard backed out, grunting a warning. Ori heaved a breath and wiped his eyes dry, fussing with the front of his cardigan.

He was going to be strong and fight for his brothers.

Dori gently leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, eyes were burning with grief.

“We’ll wait,” he whispered, and Ori nodded.

“I know.”

The car was waiting for them as the guards walked Ori out of the building. The entire district was gathered at the sidelines, and Ori could see his friends hovering right by the guardrails. He could see Bombur and Bifur, looking stricken. He could see Bofur’s favourite hat in his hands, twisted up into knots as the other teen cried. He saw Oin and Gloin, their faces ashen, and on the other side he saw Balin standing with his chin held up high, eyes glistening but his jaw set. Ori stuck his chin a little bit higher too, and he swore he could see the other man give him a little wink.

Dwalin was in the car already, wearing his most fearsome glare. Ori slid quietly into the seat next to him, and the sound of the guard shutting the door sounded like the sealing of their fate.

“Drive,” Thrain said from his seat next to the driver, and then they were off, the sights and sound of their home nothing but a memory behind them with the cold world looming ahead.

It was Dwalin who acted first; out of the blue, he reached over and carefully took Ori’s trembling hand into his own. Ori stifled a gasp, sneaking a look beside him. Dwalin was watching him carefully, no longer glaring so much, but also wanting to comfort. It was there that the memories of childhood— fooling around in Balin’s print shop, stealing Dori’s cookies off the pan, running through the restricted areas in the field and the quiet, innocent kiss they shared behind the trading house— came rushing back to Ori.

Wiping his eyes, Ori squeezed Dwalin’s hand back.

They would be okay.

They would survive.

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind Dori and Nori and Balin are older than 18, so even if they wanted to they wouldn't be able to volunteer in their brothers' places. And all the others are teenagers but they weren't chosen. For some reason I didn't include Thorin or Fili or Kili or Bilbo... I don't know why, hah.


End file.
